Stephen Mejias

With cheeks to match her pretty pink dress, Morgan Jet walks into the office, a pleasant wrinkle upon the day's usual sights and sounds. She sings.

She steals my seat, knocks my cell phone to the floor, spreads pencil shavings all over my desk, scribbles across dates on my calendar, and, with a few lucky deft strokes, manages to shut down my computer. She smiles.